What Still Lives in the North
by bookSmartCat
Summary: Having recently taken up the black, Jon seeks to enjoy one last trip beyond the wall before left to, what he thinks to be, life as a servant boy. Yet he finds himself stuck within a life he never expected, fulfilling a promise made in blood from years past. With danger rising from the south, threatening family new and old, Jon must rise to his role, and change this world forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

The moon was at half phase, hanging precariously over the horizon as if from a string, that at any moment would snap and send it connecting harshly with the world's edge. Cold wind, harsher in the far north than any other, bit with sharpened fangs at the dense fur cloaks donned by the Night's Watch. The black brothers hunched over the necks of their steeds, bracing against the force of the air. The cold left barely an impact on their progress; these men were long hardened by the gale, and sat within its fierce embrace with the ease of fish in water.

Jon gazed admirably at the patrol before him. Being new to the brotherhood himself, he still hated the tingle felt on the tip of his nose and the stiffness in his chilled fingers, but not wanting to seem week, kept his mouth clamped shut against complaints, instead focusing on keeping balance atop his horse, as the wind tugged left and right, trying with all its might to throw him. Ghost kept by his side, horse shifting nervously at his presence, red eyes pointed straight ahead, as though seeing through the harsh turbulence were the easiest task in the world.

The bastard Stark kept eyes strained on the perimeter of the forest around him, not wanting to waste this one chance on patrol. Being relegated to, as he considered, nothing more than a servant boy was not what he had planned as his future for serving the watch, but a place was a place, and if that was where the Watch needed him, then Jon would buck up with a few grumbles and do as told. He still intended to make most of his last trip beyond the wall, letting his mind wander with dreams of ranging through the hills, instead of just trailing the wall's perimeter to look in on a slight disturbance within the tree line. Voices drifted back from farther into the patrol group. Jon strained to hear the elder Watchmen's discussion.

"Damn newbies." One grumbled. "This is why we shouldn't put the greenies on the wall. There's nothing out here but snow and ice! They must have seen a tree branch rustling, and been so frightened they sent in a report! Disgrace!"

"Cram it, ya frozen coot." His heavily bearded friend snapped. "Ya bust be getting' on in yer years if ya can't handle a bit-o time in the breeze." He chuckled.

The first man shot his comrade a sneer before turning back to face the front.

Jon chuckled to himself in exasperation. The men of the wall may have been cold, sometimes intimidating, but all things were well taken in jest; the decree of all men of the Watch being brothers radiating firmly into all aspects of how they treated one another. Still… Jon could not deny a loneliness that filled a spot in his gut. The boy missed home. Missed the castle, his father, his real brothers, Arya, even Lady Stark. He'd gladly welcome the sight of her, even wearing one of her pointed looks she often left his way. Jon was having issues feeling any sort of a connection to the men around him. Most were criminals forced into a life they never asked for, not on decision for a better one, like he had. There was little common ground to be found outside of the new recruits he had befriended at training. But he forced thoughts away with a calm breath. Now was not the time. HE was of the Watch now. There was a place for him, and he would find it. The Watch was his family now. Everything would fall into place soon enough.

Ghost came to a sudden halt. Ears pricked and gazing with only wolf-like intensity at the bush to Jon's left. Jon pulled his horse up short.

"What is it?" He whispered eagerly.

Ghost gave one sniff. Then the silent dire wolf raced at full tilt into the woods.

"Hey!" Jon called out to the troop ahead of him. "Ghost has got something!" And without waiting for command, Jon Snow leapt off the path and into the heart of the growth, following the feeling form of his white companion.

After several feet of running, Jon guided his ride to a halt. The beast's sides were gasping heavily, and vapor breath left its nostrils in large puffs. The trees ahead of him were dense, too dense for his horse, but Jon had seen Ghost slip through into the undergrowth. Determined, Jon dismounted and tied his horse to a branch jutting at a low angle from one of the trees, and dashed off after his wolf.

The anxious desire to prove himself as a capable watchman drove his cold feet eagerly through the deep snow piled around him. He followed the light marks of Ghost's steps until he broke from the cover into a clearing, lit by the half-moon's light. Trees stood as black and guarding silhouette ringing the pure, untouched gathering of snow. Ghost stood ridged, nose pointed towards the far end of the clearing. Jon steps forward with a hunter's movements, striving not to alert anything within the cover. He leaned down and placed a gloved hand over the wolf's shoulder. He moved not an inch.

"What's out there, boy?"

Jon leaned forward himself, straining into the darkness. Branches fluttered in reaction to movement, and a figure lifted its head from the darkness. Jon saw nothing but bright, golden eyes. They burned like coins from the shadows, and felt strangely beckoning and warm. As if asking Jon to approach.

He took an unconscious step forward. A sudden burst of noise drove the eyes away in fright as the rest of the watch pounded out through the canopy and into the clearing.

"Jon-!" the leader, whose name he had yet to learn, panted out heavily. "What- huff- is the meaning of this? Never run off from a patrol!"

Startled out of his captivated reverie, Jon stood with head bowed, shame and realization at the carelessness of his actions already flooding through his body without needing to be told.

"I'm sorry, sir. I saw that Ghost had caught hold of something's scent, and lost myself in the excitement."

His faced didn't soften an inch as he rose above Jon's submissive form. Clear annoyance and exhaustion written in the lines of his skin. He had little patience for the newly initiated at this point.

"That is of no matter. We have no clue as to what could be lurking here. Even if what alerted the guard were to be nothing more than a foraging squirrel, the woods are still full of other dangers. Ones no one should be anxious to meet."

Jon kept eye contact with the ground, knowing all faults before they even left the patrol leader's grizzled face. The words he spoke took root in Jon's mind, and brought forth memories of Old Nan, gathering the children to recount tales of the old days. Of magic creatures running wild, dragons sailing the skies, the cold, walking beasts to the north, even animals who could speak as humans. He smiled lightly despite himself, still missing his old life terribly. His down cast eyes caught the trees around him. Surely the commander was referring to wild animals, like dire wolves, or bears, or night cats; not dragons or creatures made of snow. Stories were just stories. Nothing like that could exist today. Not with so much magic gone from the world.

During his chastising, the group had forgotten about Ghost, who's body perked up again as the rustling started once more from the bushes. The guard's reaction was immediate. They turned as one, tightening into a loose circle with swords drawn. Jon searched the woods. The rustling had picked up, now circulating throughout the undergrowth. His eyes caught flashes of quick forms moving gracefully about the ferns and branches. He heard the others curse in frustration around him, and Jon caught on to the reason. The dexterous bodies were stirring up all the foliage around them, creating uncertainty as to where they would strike from. This left the Watch with nowhere to focus their attention, no way of knowing from which direction to guard.

Suddenly, they stopped. And the forest stood undeniably still. Jon felt nervous sweat trickle down his neck. Ghost had not moved an inch. The guard clenched their swords in a death grip, eyes shifting left to right.

Then the world exploded into noise.

Growls that shook the earth permeated all around, as heavy furred bodies leapt from hiding and flung themselves upon the group. Confusion burst, and startled Watchmen swung at any large forms they could see. But the figures were undaunted. They flung and crushed the fighters like weak children, scattering them in all directions, disarming biting and clawing until they collapsed one by one. Jon watched as he struggled to fight with amazed terror. The beasts were slipping their teeth through the openings of their coverings, through sleeves and necklines, going past the armor to get at sensitive weak points.

 _These are no beasts. They're fighting smart!_ The realization came just as another one burst from the blind spot in his peripherals, sinking fangs deep into his shoulder, tearing through cloth and fur like a sword through wet paper.

Jon groaned in pain, though something still felt off. Instead of just a biting sting, there was a tingle spreading through his body. The beast clenched tight around his shoulder, teeth almost meeting teeth, and held Jon down as the shivers and tingles spread to the rest of his body. Vision blackened at the sides, and the world narrowed until his only focus was on those eyes. Warm and golden, oddly calming. Jon caught look of a narrow face, wide black nose, and sharp ears sitting from curved points at the top of a broad head. His vision narrowed again, close to nothing, and the last thought he managed.

 _Wolf_

A piece of consciousness came back for him but a few moments later. He felt snow parting at his back, the hood of his fur cloak grasped in a tight grip dragging him deeper into the woods. The sounds and cries of his new brothers fading into the background. And just in the distance before him, Ghost following at a slow pace. The wolf. He had stood there, at the edge of the wood, watching. Ghost always leapt to his defense, swiping and snapping at all those who sought him harm. But through that whole fight, he hadn't done a single thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

The world came back to Jon in slow increments. Little sparks of light that flurried together into a clearer picture. Though it did little good, as where ever he was now left him with little light and no real surroundings. Wearily rising his head, Jon surveyed where we was being kept.

He was trapped within a small room made of stone towards the back, and tapered out to a thatching of straw, wood, and mud farther in front. The ceiling was entirely stone, and curved over Jon's head in a slope, turning the room's shape into a small bubble, very unlike the square, ridged corners he was used to in most man-made structures.

But as several human sized beings shoved the wooden door open with a loud creek and stalked into the space, crowding round in an informal semicircle, Jon was reminded that he was in the hands of no men when he met their eyes. Angled, dark, and glowing gold.

"Wolves…" He muttered, voice low and horse from disuse.

The one in the lead, a young man with ragged dark hair that seemed to have never touched a brush in its life, chuckled lightly.

"Very observant, young Stark."

"I'm no Stark…" he spat with more venom.

"Oh, but you are, on some level. Even if it's not the level you expect."

Jon's pained face contorted into its best attempt at confusion, and the huffing laughter came again, this time echoed by the… beasts around him. But surprisingly enough, to Jon, he could sense no mocking in their tones. Instead, it reminded him of feasts at the castle, when the lords at the head would bust out at a particularly humors joke or story. There was a light playfulness that caught him off guard; almost warm and welcoming, very much like their eyes.

"Who are you?" he questioned at last, strength returning to his voice.

A kind smile stretched across the leader's face, and he stepped into a brighter section of the room. Aside from the eyes, he looked very much human. Same structure, same facial features, nothing out of the ordinary. The others in the group stepped up to reveal all completely normal faces. Their bodies were covered in hand woven fabrics and furs that looked stripped right from the bodies of animals and incorporated into their clothing without much alteration. All of them seemed to share the leader's same ragged look, with unkempt hair and unshaven chins.

"We're your welcoming committee, Jon. After all, you are one of us now."

Jon's body went stiff. He was being kidnapped and now drafted into a new order against his will? This was crazy! Did they not know of the Watch? The vows he had made? They were ever binding, if he were to break them, his life would be forfeit. But something much more unsettling slipped to the front of his mind.

"How do you know me…?"

The wolf leader smiled again.

"Simple, Jon. We were owed you."

Jon's face screwed into disbelief. The wolf leader sighed.

"It'll be a lot easier if you let me sit and explain first, with no questions. There's a lot to discuss and plenty for you to digest and get used to, so the sooner we start the better."

He snapped his fingers, and like obedient dogs two men quickly left the room and dragged a chair into the room for him to recline on. Jon felt the pain of the stone ground digging into his back more so than before. It came to his realization he had no restraints on, leaving him with full use on his limbs. But Jon felt no inclination to escape. Too many guards blocked the way. Perhaps at a later date.

The leader let himself fully sink into the fur covered chair, resting one boot covered food across another, arm slung across the back. With a cough to open his throat, he began.

"I am assuming you have heard tales of magic since you were very young. The stories of wild animals the likes of which you could never imagine, places of wonder and impossibility, feats and powers unattainable at this time, and how such magic came to fade from the world, leaving it as bland and uninteresting today. Most likely even claims that the blood of the first men run through the Starks veins."

Jon gave a small nod as the man continued.

"Well, it's all true. Perhaps the stories are a bit inaccurate, but the Stark origins are. And that's where our tale begins. Your family's symbol bearing the dire wolf is no mere coincidence or choice to fit where they come from, little pup, but stems from a deal, a promise of sorts that stretches moons in the past, and moons ahead. One that binds bloodlines for the protection of both sides.

See, the Starks come from a specific tribe that set out to conquer the north, only to find themselves completely unprepared. Starving, cold, and lost, many died, and many more wanted to run south. But their leader and his family were made of tougher stuff. Even in their dire state, they struck out, wanting with everything they had to make this unforgiving turf their home. The reasons of which were lost to the ravages of time and poor documentation.

There still seemed to be no hope, of this small group of men living through even a single winter here, until they stumbled across quite the scene. A pack of dire wolves, being maliciously mauled by shadow cats. The human leader saw that they were protecting several litters of pups stored in a cave some distance away, and led his tribe in an attack. Together, both man and wolf destroyed and scattered the cats, saving the lives of the wolf pups in the process.

Needless to say, the dire wolves were needlessly grateful. Loyalty is a trait well desired amongst pack animals. Their alpha, a large she-wolf, wanted to strike a deal. The wolves had been struggling, unable to sufficiently hunt in the deep snow. Prey was fast, and they were uninventive. The humans were struggling as well. They had no natural skills to fend against cold, and no sufficient tracking abilities. Being a time of magic, the wolf suggested a trade. Dire wolves would become their protectors, covering the humans from danger, giving them food and helping to find shelter, teach them how to live in the north, and protect all who come to live with them. But in exchange, they would give some of their kind to the wolves. Become one with the species, and share their intelligence to keep their pack alive.

Needless to say, the human leader agreed. Since that day, the dire wolf has presided over that group, and all of its descendants, leading to your modern flag sigil. But the pact still remains. And as the first Starks promised, new blood must be given to the wolves, to continue the protection of their clan."

"And I'm this new blood? This sacrifice?" Jon struggled, anger and fear boiling deep in his gut at this idea. The leader just chuckled.

"Yes, and no. See, this joining with the wolves created something unexpected. Half-breeds, Wolf-men, whatever you wish to call them. Humans with wolf-like abilities. They can shift from one form to another, even some stages in-between. They possess enhanced senses, incredible speed and strength, all tied together with human cunning and intelligence. This union created truly powerful beings, which later expanded and spread, becoming the wild masters of the north, untamable as the snow itself. And now, young Stark, you have joined our ranks."

Jon's body jerked up, he wanted to stand, to attack this man, to pound him into the dirt and call him a liar. "That's crazy!" he choked out, still hindered by pain.

The leader kept that smile, but softened into one of empathy.

"Now, now Jon, surely you noticed. You did call us wolves as we walked in, no?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you saw our eyes in the forest."

"Ye-"

"And my face as I bit you."

Jon now lapsed into silence.

"That was you?"

"Yes, me. I turned you. In my wolf form. We had all shifted during the attack."

Jon's anger chilled for a moment.

"Turned me?"

Another finger snap. A Wolf-man pulled a now uncovered mirror from its spot in a darkened corner of the room, and placed it in front of him. Jon's hands flew to his face in terror as a tangled scream caught on his tongue. His face had… _changed._ His ears were pointed and stuck out from his head, through strands of black hair. His nose was flat, nostrils wide and flaring with each breath. Fangs stuck out from the roof of his mouth, and as his lips opened and closed, Jon could catch sight of more sharp canines within. His face, before clean and young, now littered with patchy fur, like one of the well, seasoned Watchmen. And his eyes. They were pointed, with dark black in place of whites surrounding the iris, which now glowed bright with gold coloring. The leader's voice sounded from behind the mirror.

"Welcome to the pack."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

A low wine escaped Jon's quivering mouth, sounding distinctly animal as hands brushed through raven colored hair, his fingertips feeling their pointed edges.

"I'm a _beast._ " The words escaped him at a low his, new growls leaving with them, accenting the harsher vowels.

"You should have seen yourself as the magic first set in. Positively wolfish." He remarked with a toothy grin.

"No. No no no no nonononono….. NO!" The last declaration shot as a growl and Jon finally jumped to his feet with a vigor unexpected by his bruised form.

"This is a falsehood! Th-The mirror must be enchanted! It has to be…"

The leader was unmoved, pity evident in his look. He stood to Jon's level, rising slightly higher than him.

"Calm yourself, pup. I know it's a lot, but this is the truth now. The harsher looks will fade as your blood adjusts to its new properties. Then you'll be able to control the transformation at will. Quite useful once you get used to it."

Jon's figure heaved with hurried breaths taken swiftly in panic. This was not happening. It was a dream. A quite horrifying dream, but a dream none the less. He felt a sudden pressure on his ears, sharp nails gliding along the edge where ear met his skull, brushing softly through part of his hair. The leader was scratching behind his ear, as though he were some kind of common _dog._ Yet Jon felt all the tense energy in his muscles, all the worry and anxiety, drain from his body as his head tilted towards the rocking motion. His breath slowed to a normal pace, and his poster relaxed.

Now oddly calm and slightly embarrassed, Jon stepped back from the man before him, feeling heat rush to his checks. The room erupted in laughter, the Wolf-man leader throwing his head back.

"Don't feel embarrassed, pup, that trick works on everybody. Close contact is a huge part of how we live and operate. If a simple friendly scratch gets you bothered, you're gonna have some real issues adjusting."

But Jon was no longer paying attention, more worries taking his mind.

"I have other responsibilities, you know. Promisses, oaths to the black, friends and new brothers. They'll know I've gone missing." This prompted another chuckle from the leader.

"I believe you already threw the life you had away when you joined in the first place. You had barely started this one, leaving it behind shouldn't be a big deal. Plus, the Watch is a sturdy bunch, they'll live without one more member."

Jon still looked unswayed. The man's hand came back to his shoulder.

"Listen, Jon. The Watch is a dead end life. You know that. Not allowed to start a family, not allowed to leave, not allowed to have a life made by your own choices. With us, you'll be free."

Jon huffed in disbelief.

"I'm serious! Here, you can take a mate, any female you like. Set up camp anywhere within the compound, come and go through the woods as you please, go where you wish, you need only return when called to aid the pack. As well, one of our main duties is to guard the Starks. You'll be protecting your family. You're real family. And you'll come to find, we live more freely and open here than anywhere else in the entire kingdom."

Jon's head tilted in confusion.

"You'll see it firsthand, soon enough. After you finish adjusting."

"But I'm fine now. I'm standing, not feeling dizzy, even that shoulder wound you dealt is gone."

"Oh, you'll find you heal a lot faster now than when you were just human. But you're still not ready to leave yet."

The determined glare never wavered.

"Want proof, pup?"

Another finger snapped. Two pack members opened the door wide. Jon hunched immediately in pain; scorching light burned his vision, and loud noise from beyond rang like a din within his skull. Powerful scents of undeterminable origin filled his nostrils and made Jon feel sick. Slumping to the floor, he cried in a harsh voice he could barely hear over the noise.

"Close it! Close it! Close the door, please!"

The wooden barrier slammed quickly, and the world was still once more. A warm hand scratched behind his ear once more in calming strokes.

"Your blood is still separated. Your senses are at an all-time high that you're not used to. This chamber is devised specifically for sensory deprivation, for the new recruits. Once that fades, you'll be able to see and hear more than you used to, but it will be manageable."

Jon calmed still shaking a bit on the floor, as the wolf leader withdrew his hand.

"We're gonna leave you for a bit. You should be ready by sun high. There will be a pack mate right outside the door, simply knock if you need anything. Feel free to nap on the fur rug, you must still be a bit tired."

Jon could only nod. As they gathered to file through the door, Jon stopped the leader with one last question.

"Where's Ghost?"

He smiled at that. Leaning through the crack in the door, he called out his name, and the dire wolf came pelting past and into the chamber. His furry companion nuzzled against Jon's face, a moment of affection he had never shown before. But Jon found himself comforted, nuzzling back with cheek and nose, making soft growls in the back of his throat, too tired to care at the strangeness of it. Yawning loudly, the former Stark bastard turned wolf snuggled into the carpet underneath him, Ghost curling around his master into a tight ball of warmth as he drifted into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Jon woke with a start to the sound of someone kicking in the door. Bright light flooded through the opening, inviting a groan and a rub of his eyes, but he found that it hurt far less than earlier that day. Two half-breeds blocked the sudden light, leaning in with a closeness that sparked sharp discomfort in Jon. He cringed away a bit, waking Ghost in the process with his movement.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head!" A she wolf with cherry red hair chirped from above. "Sun's up, prey's up, as we say!" The taller male simply stood hovering, arms crossed.

"Um… who are you?" He mumbled, still warry.

"We're your guides! Here to get you oriented to your new life. River sent us, thinking you would feel more at ease if some pack mates closer to your age showed you around."

"River?"

"Our alpha. He's the one who turned you, remember?"

"Oh." Jon replied dumbly. But what else was there to say on such a simple matter? "Still, though… who are you specifically?"

"Oh yeah! Silly of me. My name's Lilly, and this grump behind me is Thorn." She gave a nod to the nappy headed male behind her. Thorn merely grunted in response.

"Not very talkative…"

Lilly giggled. "No, definitely not. Oh, we brought you something to chew on. It's been almost a whole day, you must be starving."

Lilly lifted something from behind her and offered it to Jon as he sat up. It was a raw hind leg of some kind of mountain goat. The fur had been skinned off it, but the meat was pink and fresh, blood still dripped in a sticky red on the rug and a rank smell reminding Jon of the butcher's plate in the kitchens. In any other case, he would have flinched away. Raw meet was well known for being in no way tasty and incredibly unhealthy. But for some reason, the scent that reached his nose brought on the exact opposite of disgust. Jon's mouth began to water, and his stomach gave a heavy growl, almost matching the deep one that left his throat. He felt pains in his gums, teeth growing sharp and nails tingling as they lengthened. He rushed forward and tugged the leg straight from Lilly's grip, in an action that neither beast flinched at. They simply sat back and watched unperturbed as Jon ripped into the meat with feral intent.

There was no room for caring about manners in Jon's mind, fully consumed with the taste of blood running down his tongue. His stomached warmed, enjoying the feeling of finally having food to take in, and by the time he had ripped down to the bone, Jon set to licking his fingers dry of every stain. At once, self-consciousness set in above base instinct and Jon dropped the bone hastily, eyes flickering to the two Wolf-people watching passively. Lilly giggled.

"What's with that look, new guy?"

Jon merely shuffled nervously. Thorn huffed again, getting Lilly's attention before motioning to the door.

"Ah, yeah!" She grabbed Jon's arm and pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. "C'mon, Snow, we got to get you situated!"

Jon had little time to question as he was dragged forcefully into bright daylight, Thorn following at the tail end of the trio as Lilly stayed clutched tight to Jon's arm. The former Watchman stared wide eyed at where he had been held at least half a day. The compound, as he heard River name it, was situated within a dip in a stone basin, dark rocky cliffs surrounded at all sides creating natural walls. The only visible exit was to the north, a narrow winding slope that dove in and out of pointed rocks towards the surface, easily defendable, Jon noted with approval.

Constructed dens littered both the snowy ground and the cliff face itself, built partly out of stone with mud and wood thatching in the areas exposed to the elements. Half-breeds meandered in and out; walking, running, climbing, jumping; many stopping to interact with one another. Jon noticed that every one, young or old, male or female, acted towards one another as family, with close friendly touches and smiling greetings. He suddenly felt hyper aware of the she-wolf clinging to his arm. But her grip never faltered as she steered the group around the compound.

"From here you can see, the place is a bit disorganized. We like to take advantage of the natural grooves and cuts in the rock to make our homes, so families situate their dens everywhere. But those are just the couples with pups. Most of our young members prefer to stay together, we all camp out within the huge dens, over there on the east wall."

She pointed animatedly towards a huge gaping maw that was once an open cave, now extended into a rounded house. There were benches made of carved logs scattered in loose rings about the front, and from their vantage point Jon could observe quite a few young half-breeds, most around his age some younger or older, mingling throughout the yard before the cave. With a sudden tug, Jon was whisked from observation towards another portion of the camp.

"This important looking den on that cliff up there is River's; it's the alpha den. The big wolf in charge has lived there since we made this camp. It's high up there so the alpha can see the whole camp from his front door. No trouble can escape his watch. River's elite group of betas live in those huts down there, around the base. You might have met them earlier. It's common for them to accompany him everywhere he goes. They're our best fighters."

 _Like the white knights of the king's guard._ The reminder brings back a swamp of feelings and memories he wasn't ready for. A pit of homesickness welled up from within, worse than when he left for the wall. Here… he felt trapped on another world altogether. A low wine left unbidden, and Jon felt Lilly's gaze turn to him in concern.

"What's wrong, Snow?" She prodded gently.

"I… I just… this is all so weird. I've found out today magic creatures from the days of the First Men, and now I'm some kind of wolf beast, and… I feel more lost than when I left for the wall. It's all so… uncertain now."

Lilly whined in sympathy.

"It's got to be hard, leaving all that behind. Twice no less. But don't worry, Snow. You'll find your place. And we're all here to help. You're a pack mate now. That means you always have support!"

With sudden force, Lilly pulled him close and rubbed the side of her face against Jon's jawline. Jon stiffened in fear and surprise at the close contact of a woman. But he felt nothing sensual in the action; the wolf part of his mind reacting with joy and comfort, wanting to reciprocate his pack mate's assurance. He even felt Thorn take a step closer, giving off another whine of his own as a friendly hand was placed on his shoulder. Jon's human experience still kept the discomfort radiating through his body, and he wedged his arms between his body and Lilly, and gently forced her away.

"Th-thank you, but… hey why do you call me Snow?"

Lilly stepped back. "Well, we find human names to be… odd. In the way they work, and how they're pronounced… we prefer to name ourselves and our young after real things. Things in nature. Like Lilly and Thorn! River told us your name was… um… Jon? Jon Snow. So we figured… Snow was a perfect fit."

Jon almost laughed at the humor of this. They had no idea, that the name Snow was not his own, merely a title that emphasized disgraceful origins. Another thought came to mind. Perhaps this was an opportunity. A chance to take back the pain tossed on him for something he could never control. Yes… a true restart. Not like the wall.

"Okay. Snow it is."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Jon had hardly noticed, but months had passed in the time he spent with the pack. And it proved to be, hands down, the strangest experience of his young life. Despite how human these wolves looked, their lives were anything but. All their interaction spawned around physical contact, a concept Jon could barely wrap his thoughts around.

His pack mates would start by greeting him happily from a respectable distance, and before he could even reply Jon found himself smothered in an embrace, or a friendly head-butt, or a hand gripping somewhere on his upper body. And each time, the former Stark stiffened immediately, thrown off balance with a mixture of personal space invasion and culture shock. It just felt… wrong. This kind of friendliness was rarely shown between brothers, let alone complete strangers. And even now, Jon still could not completely relax in the friendly embraces of men and women alike. But he had worked up the courage to at least give back a few pats in return. Lilly kept mentioning something about it strengthening bonds between members of a pack.

"It helps with intermingling scents, so we all recognize one another as allies. It's also good for the family bond. Everyone in the pack is our own, we're all brothers and sisters of the North."

The similarities between the pack and The Wall still felt numerous, but, oddly enough, it felt warmer here, in the depths of ice and snow, than ever in Castle Black.

River was a constant presence around the compound. Jon saw him everywhere. In any place where something was occurring, or help was required, River appeared on the scene as though he had materialized out of the frost. He appeared to be inserting himself as Jon's informal teacher in all things wolf. He'd approach Jon at random, pull him from whatever he was doing, and drag him out for an impromptu lesson in the woods.

River taught him the culture and traditions of the wolf-men, how to slip with the ease of a fish into water from man to wolf, how to put his new senses to good use, and an odd collection of other seemingly useless skills that he promised would one day "save his pelt." Altogether, Jon found himself adjusting rapidly to his new form. Being a wolf was hardly different from being human. He still felt the same. Could still think, and talk; only difference being that he now had a much stronger form to do it in, and a fantastic disguise for forest hunting.

But more than any of that, was the huge collection of friends he found himself with. The portion of the pack that was around his age was huge. Plenty of young and restless wolves that seemed eager to welcome him in. Lilly and Thorn had practically shoved most of them in his face, introducing a variety of faces with names that blurred until forgotten, yet now he could place each one by scent along with a description of their personalities.

The group of younglings stuck around one another for the most part. When one had an idea, the whole of them were off on some kind of adventure. Jon seemed to gain the most knowledge from them. It was a bit nerve racking, being around so many people who spoke to him with a casual freedom he had never known, but he came to relish it. It felt amazing, to joke and pal around and just feel like a part of something. It was from this new in-group he learned to fight.

Jon discovered it was common for them to start scuffles and mock fights at any time. When tension was high, or boredom reigned like a cloud over their heads, someone was pouncing on someone and initiating a wrestling session on the ground, with the rest cheering and egging from the sidelines. At first, Jon found it barbaric and odd, as with most things in pack culture, but as soon as Branch, a headstrong male, pulled him into the center ring and began to circle with a smug grin on his face, it was like a switch.

Jon couldn't help but growl low and drop into a half crouch, letting his nails and fangs grow in response. Branch lunged with an excited yowl and the fight was on. Tumbling over one another, grappling at flailing limps with light snaps administered to just above the skin, Jon felt an odd joy bubble up from his gut and he could do nothing to stop the grin splitting his features, wide toothy and laughing. It was liberating.

Since then, he felt more like one of the pack than ever. They ran as one over hills, ridges, and through snow covered trees, reading movements like words on parchment as they shifted on a dime to the Alpha's command.

Even Jon's relationship with Ghost took on a whole new level. It was like finally speaking the same language with an old friend from a different land. Ghost spoke with his whole body, and each sniff and shift in balance sent a message. And now that Jon was tuned in to that language, he could read his wolf better than ever. Ghost's intelligence now spoke for itself, and Jon found he was even responding to his formerly one sided conversations. It was surreal, but fantastic.

Yet even in the depths of the cold Northern lands, Jon never forgot what came before. His thoughts never strayed far from his family and old friends. Despite the fact there was not much he could do in that regard, he still yearned to see them again, even if just to explain to them what had occurred; pack secrets be damned. Maybe, if seeing his father was too much to ask, he could just find his friends from The Watch, and they could deliver the message out in secret to his family. If only…

He saw them during his next trip into the woods.

Jon had gone out hunting for his own stomach with Ghost. It was common for him to leave for a bit with nothing but his dire wolf, just to appreciate the quiet serenity of white landscape. The snow blanketed everything around, and sucked up noise and breath with sponge like qualities leaving all in deathly silence. Taking in an icy breath, Jon let his senses roam and study all that was around him. Quiet rustling of trees, scent of pine and musty leaves buried beneath unscented ice, quiet motion of life as they scuffled too and fro in a desperate attempt to go unspotted. Sometimes, when the world was like this, Jon thought he could hear the very Earth breathing. But the silence never lasts long.

The noise was like an assault on his ear drums; loud, pounding, and startling in its sudenty. Jumping with a flinch, Jon and Ghost dived simultaneously for the thick undergrowth, sinking far as possible into the shadows.

Now calm, Jon managed to place a name to the rhythmic clopping; hooves. Soon enough, a Watch patrol strode through the clear deer path through the forest, horses traveling at a steady pace. Scanning their faces in shock, Jon spotted Pyp and Toad; nearly leaping from the bushes in excitement at seeing the familiar mugs once more. But something was different. Their faces looked grave, expressions stern, posture similar to the experienced Watchmen riding around them. It struck Jon.

 _They've taken the oath already._

A kind of illusion shattered before him. Jon supposed he'd been so absorbed in adjusting to a new reality, he failed to recognize that time continued to pass in his old one. Familiar guilt at abandoning them kept him weighted like stones in his boots as they passed. Still… they deserved to know. Perhaps this would help to give a bit of closure to the situation.

Shifting to full wolf, Jon crept with Ghost right at his side, following the patrol through the woods. Sometime down the trail, Pyp turned his head to Toad for a moment, and the two young rangers fell back from the group; slipping into the woods with the smoothness of water. Jon's fur lifted along his shoulders. Something wasn't right. With a silent signal to Ghost, the wolves slithered into the snowy undergrowth.

Pyp was surging ahead on his horse, Toad following with a morose expression. Pyp pulled his horse to a stop in the midst of a snowy clearing. The new Watchman surveyed the tree line with scrutinizing eyes, seemingly searching for something amidst the foliage. Jon stilled, crouched just out of sight. Ghost slid up next to him, watching with similar curiosity. Toad moved to Pyp's side and reached his hand towards the other boy's shoulder.

"Pyp, don't make this more difficult-"

Toad's grasp was quickly broken as Pyp raised a hand to his mouth and yelled out into the wilderness.

"JON! JON SNOW!"

Wolf-Jon startled at the sudden volume of his name. They were looking for him. Taking a second look at his surroundings, he recognized it as the very clearing the wolves had taken him from. A pit opened within his gut. Toad spoke up over Pyp's calling.

"Pip, stop it! You're only making this harder. For yourself and everyone. He's gone."

"He's not gone!" Pip raged, turning on his friend with an unfathomable fury burning in his eyes.

"Pyp," Toad sighs, seemingly exhausted. "You heard the report loud and clear; the wolves got him. His watch brothers would never lie about something like that."

Pip deflated in his saddle. "It's not possible… He- he was the strongest of all of us. He had his own dire wolf for the god's sakes! He can't be dead!"

"I know. It's just as surreal for me… but he was still just a boy like the rest of us. Calling out for him in the woods will do nothing. It will be easier to heal if we just try to move on."

Pyp's eyes exuded sadness and grief. He leapt down from his stead and walked to the far end of the clearing, looking down at the snow crunching under his boots. Jon stepped back farther into the shelter of the leaves, deep regret filling his being. How could he have been so blind? So caught up in the little hideaway of his new pack that he had forgotten; his friends thought him eaten by wolves. A part of his mind; a section now dedicated to instinct and wolfish desires wanted to run. To scurry off back to his den and bask in that warmth of companionship and forget all over again. But he would not. Of everyone, his friends deserved to know he was safe and alive. He couldn't leave them to hurt like this.

Stealing his nerves, Jon prepared to walk out into the open, when teeth grasped his scruff and pulled him farther back. Letting out a startled yelp, Jon was met with red eyes and white fur looking to him intently.

" _Ghost!_ " Jon hissed. " _What is wrong with you?"_

The wolf shook his head avidly, nudging Jon off in another direction. Jon would have further questioned his furry companion, but the urgency in his wine colored eyes told him to follow. Trekking after the white dire wolf, Jon heard commotion before them. The voices of men, which he recognized as the rest of the Watch patrol, were gathered around something in the dense woods; talking in hushed and worried voices. Creeping closer, Jon caught scent of what had their attention and his blood ran cold.

Jon leapt back, ears flat and fur rising, as one of the men moved and gave him a good look at the spectacle. Two men, both of the watch, dead and frozen. Their eyes were frosty and their skin cold and clammy, with blackened figures as if burned. The stench of death and north layered heavily across their forms, and Jon could feel what they were. They were something wrong, something evil, and something dangerous. And yet, the Wolf-man could do nothing but watch as they loaded the corpses into a wagon, struggling to calm the horses that fought to reject their presence. The patrol turned back to the wall, starting their return. Jon raced behind, keeping enough distance as to not be seen. Pip and Toad joined not far along, looking worried at the sudden unease in the air. The reunion would have to wait.

The patrol climbed through the gated tunnel burrowed into the Wall. This was not good. Jon knew, deep in his bones, if those creatures were allowed behind the wall, death would find them all. Making a snap decision, Jon slipped back into human form, pulling his back hood over his head, and opening the coat so Ghost could hide underneath. Together, they slipped into the group, blending in with the rest of the dark colors, and moving so silently no one noticed their new stowaways. As the last horse passed through, and the heavy doors sealed off the tunnel, Jon slipped back out from the cluster and took shelter in the deep shadows left between two buildings situated along the wall.

Peering with sharp yellow eyes, Jon studied the newly arrived patrol as they split off to follow their separate duties; dispersing to leave only a few men with the wooden cart in the center. After detaching the horses from its front, a few souls removed the bodies, wrapped in blankets so as to not alarm any eavesdroppers. As they slid through the front door, the patrol's lead pulled one of his men close.

"Let no one approach those corpses until I finish reporting to Mormont."

After a quick 'Yes, sir,' the last of them dispersed.

Letting out a breath, Jon sank down into a crouch, using one wall as a support. Ghost stepped out from beneath his cloak and rested a head on his knee with a questioning gaze. Jon absent mindedly rubbed his head, shifting the hand after a few moments to rub the thin material of the wolf's ear between his fingers. All the while his mind raced, searching for a plan of some sort. He had acted on split second timing when he slipped through the wall, and now there was no way he was leaving until tomorrow. No way of calling on the pack for help. He didn't know why, but Jon just had a feeling these creatures were from the North as well, and that River would somehow know ways to dispense of them. One thing was certain; Jon needed to act fast. The entire watch was in danger.

Steeling a resolve, Jon turned his attention towards the building the cold bodies had entered. Two guards were posted at the door; armed with swords and torches to light the way in the ever growing darkness of evening. Like a quiet revelation, Jon's keen eyes pointed to him weaknesses in their defense, and a fast thought process formulated a strategy to efficiently distract the guards and allow him and Ghost to sneak through. Smiling to himself, Jon gave Ghost one last pat of assurance.

As one; Stark and wolf moved like liquid shadow around the expanse of Castle Black's courtyard, halting within the shadow along the wall to the tower they wished to enter. Jon tensed, running through his plan once more and seeking to cover all contingencies. This had to go smoothly, lest everything end before it had even begun.

Turning to Ghost, Jon gave a signal. The wolf understood with distinct clarity, and moved off to his position. With another nod of affirmation, Jon set the plan into motion.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Faster than any human eye could perceive, Jon swept up a stone from the dirt ground under his feet and heaved it off into the darkness. Making contact with something out of view, a large clatter grabbed the guards' attention. With absolute silence, Jon swung the door open and let a sliver of torch light cast on the Earth. Ghost swooped in through the space left, and Jon gently let the wood frame close, slipping back into darkness just as the guards turned back to their posts.

Jon grabbed up another rock, and this time flung it at a closer distance. It collided with a clatter against something else, and the guards jumped once more.

"That's it. Someone's trying to pull the hoods over our eyes. You stay here, I'll find whoever that is sneakin' about and tan his hide."

Grumbling avidly, the leftmost guard stomped off into the darkness, and the one left by the door shifted into the center with a sigh of exasperation.

Jon slid in so he was positioned back to back within the guard's shadow. Reaching forward with practiced skill, his hand gripped the door knob. And the guard moved. Jon followed his motions, staying in line with his back and out of his vision. Giving a shrug, the Watchman turned back to await his brother's return. With barely a pause, Jon grabbed for the door, deftly opened it, and stepped within just before it closed. He released a heavy breath, and sank to the ground to calm his nerves. Despite the instinct that had taken over, the task was nerve racking.

Ghost approached with silent steps, placing his head once more against Jon's knee. Jon chuckled, body still filled with a rush known only through danger.

"I think we should talk to the Old Bear about the Watch's guard skills. That was too simple."

It wasn't long before Jon stood again, gaze sweeping and senses training in on the smell of the frozen men. Their stench was easy to find, it stood out in high contrast to the cold clarity of stone and the singing bitterness of flame and wood. Motioning to Ghost, the two crept through the scarcely lit hall in search of the source, all the while looking for any more Watch members who might be creeping around this time of night. Soon they found themselves in a dark lower room where the smell of death was so strong it was almost palpable.

Two black figures lie spread on the floor. They started to move in slow, jerky motions; starting to life within the dimness.

A growl rose in Jon's throat and his eyes burned like two hot coins of purest gold. Instinct rose and clouded everything else as wolf sensibilities kicked in. The call of the North and the desire to protect against what was surely pure evil filled every strand of muscle and inch of bone. With a ferocious growl, Jon flung himself wildly at the creatures, shifting into fur midflight. He landed upon the first with the mighty crunch of limb and bone under pressure of teeth and wild strength. Jon could hear Ghost silently grappling with the second only paces away.

The stink of death filled his nostrils as hands so cold they seemed to burn clamped down on his mussel. Slipping fingers between gaps in teeth, seemingly undaunted by the pain of his bite, the creature broke Jon's grip and sent him falling to the stone floor. He rose quickly with another growl towards his prey. Lips drawn up in a snarl and hackles raised, he avidly looked the part of the fearsome predator. The cold beast that was once a man now stood at full height, one arm hanging limply at his side from where Jon had almost managed to rip it off his body. There was no register of pain from those ice colored eyes as it lunged towards him.

Jon gracefully danced out of reach while giving a few harsh bites and claws as he passed. Still the creature was undeterred. With a quick glance, Jon could tell Ghost was struggling just the same. No matter how many attacks were laid, they never fell. As if they could not die. It was coming for him again, and Jon retreated rapidly, racking his brain for a solution. His hind legs hit the starts, and he leapt back up them through the opening as it came at him with swinging fists. The creature tripped and collided heavily with the stone floor.

It lifted its upper half and reached towards wolf-Jon with those blackened fingers, and Jon pressed closer to the wall in the hallway, whining in terror. With a sudden grunt, the former man flinched back, clawing his way once more into darkness. Confused, Jon looked up to where his dead eyes were trained on the wall. A torch burned brightly in its holder on the stone, and Jon's eyes lit with a primal understanding.

 _Fire… fire!_ Fire was the answer.

He reached the torch with ease, grasping the unlit portion of the stick in his jaws before turning back to the retreating figure in the darkness. The fire blazed close to his face, but Jon ignored the small licks of flame bursting and tickling the fur of his cheek. He locked eyes with the thing, and leapt in a full rage towards it. The flame caught like the corpse was made of rotting wood and pine needles. At last a scream of pain echoed on stone as the room became bright from the light of this new and much larger torch. The fire now encompassed all of its body, and lashed out at Jon's paws where he was still pinning the creature down, but he did not care. Too swept up in primal rage, he kept the stick pressed close until the cried died out into silence.

 _Die you frost bitten demon, DIE!_

At last the heat became too much, and Jon leapt back, shifting into human form in the process. The torch was still flaming in his hand, and his fingers looked red and inflamed from their proximity to the makeshift pyre. The burning corpse was rapidly losing flame as it fought to find fuel on the stony ground. Jon caught his breath, rage fading from his body and leaving him to feel the hurt that racked his body.

A scuffling sound reached his ears, and Jon turned to see Ghost struggling to pick himself up from the ground. Rushing over in a hurry, Jon looked his wolf over within the torch light. The albino dire wolf was covered in scars and scrapes, some bleeding but most not. It looked as though he had just been thrown harshly to the wall and forgotten. Ghost found his footing, and reassured Jon with a few licks he was alright. But the wolf still looked anxious. The danger was still not gone.

Realization struck Jon. There was still another.

In a rush, wolf and master were out the door, searching again for a trail to follow. Catching the strong smell of decay, they traced it through the halls and up a stairway. They came to a stop where a figure lie slumped against a wall. Moving closer, Jon saw it was a Watch guard. His neck was torn open, and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Familiar dread and fury raced through his body once again, and his eyes regained their ferocity. Looking around, Jon recognized the hall they stood in. Off to the side was a familiar door into a familiar room. This had been his bed while he was training at the watch. Forcing that familiar melancholy down, Jon picked up the trail once more. After climbing a few more sets of stairs, Jon realized where it was headed. Up towards the top of the tower were the rooms where the Watch's leader resided over Castle Black.

 _He's headed for Mormont._

In a rush Jon bounded up the last few stairs, bursting through the door to find the frost creature struggling to open the door of Mormont's bed chambers. With a roar, Jon leapt on its back, pulling it away as Ghost snapped at its legs. The creature stumbled across the room, and fell with a crash amidst the study's curtains. Jon flung the torch down upon it as he and Ghost sprang clear. Another strangled cry as the corpse struggled in its death throws. As it died, Jon stamped out the flames left on the cloth, panting from exertion and smoke entering his lungs. He looked down as Ghost stepped up beside him, gazing up at his master and leader. Jon bent to stroke Ghost's head in thanks while releasing a breathy laugh. They'd done it.

A sudden gasp broke their reverie, and Jon turned in a flash to see a stern-looking man in his night clothes staring in barely contained awe.

" _Jon_?!" He questioned in shock.

" _Jon! Jon! Jon!"_ The raven perched on his shoulder echoed, ruffing up its feathers.

 _Mormont._ Jon's body froze, clueless as to what should come next.

"Fox dung…" the bastard boy muttered under his breath. This was going to be hard to talk out of.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Jon nervously tapped clawed fingers away at the wooden table as the Old Bear poured a hot liquid into the cup placed before him. Fangs worried at his lower lip as he followed the aging man's movements with trained yellow eyes. Despite the seemingly mundane set up, a sort of dread blanketed the back of his mind. Snow was definitely trapped in a no-good situation. Still Ghost lay relaxed and curled next to the leg of his chair, recovering strength from the fight and oblivious to his master's plight.

Mormont, now dressed in the thick black furs he wore during the day, lowered himself into the chair opposite, bringing his hands together at the top of the table. His raven pecked at a few bread crumbs left from the meal he had last night.

Moments passed as Mormont's ice-like stare left Jon with what felt like a layer of frost bite on his body. He had no desire to start this conversation. Not just because the whole situation seemed unexplainable, but because some kind of innate feeling told him that no one could know; that the pack needs to be a secret. That only bad things could arise from any human knowing. Yet there was no way to get out of this one. Mormont had him locked in the room, and with his warrior reflexes, Jon could imagine that the Old Bear could easily subdue an undertrained half-breed. Snow could feel himself shrinking in his seat, eyes refusing to meet Mormont's in a classic sign of submission one would show to their betters; but he fought against it. To the eyes of humans such actions would come across as him cowering, not showing respect. So he sat tall and stiff as Mormont at last broke the silence.

"So, Jon, I guess I have to start?"

Still he replied with nothing. A sigh escaped past worn lips as hands traced through whiskers and stubble.

"How about we start with how you disappeared, seemingly into the jaws of a wolf, then reappear in few months' time, scraggly faced and half in flames with a monster from eons past dead on my study floor?!"

His frustration steadily built, rising to a crescendo at the last statement, before he dropped his head into his hands once more.

"Has the world finally gone mad, or is it just me?"

" _Mad! Mad!_ " The raven picked up for a moment before returning to scouring the plate for a meal.

With a breath, Jon willed the claws to loosen from their spot embedded in the table's wood.

"No, definitely not mad, sir. Believe me, I was on the same boat a few months' back, but I'm sure if this was some sort of crazy fever dream I'd have woken up by now."

His attempt at lightening the mood changed not a line on the grizzled soldier's face. Jon straightened his poster once more and struggled to put his experience into understandable words.

"Well… I suppose we can start with the fact that those wolves that attacked were not normal."

No reaction from Mormont.

"And they were after me, specifically." That caused the brows on his forehead to raise a fraction. About as close to surprise as he could get.

"This may all sound a little weird, but apparently every story we've been told about magic and the creatures of the north has been true; but there are still others whose stories we have forgotten. Apparently, the first Starks entered a deal with the wolves of the north, for protection and knowledge of how to survive in the frigid tundra in exchange for a blood sacrifice. Though not in the traditional sense, but by adding their blood to the pack. This created a species of wolf-men hybrids who are honor bound by ancient laws to guard and keep the lords of the north. And I have been drafted as the next sacrifice, as an unwanted bastard that still carries Stark blood."

The confusing mess of words was the best he could do. Trying to break down everything that had occurred into a more digestible manner was extremely difficult.

The old bear's brow had lifted to a point they seemed about to fuse with his hair line; but aside from that, his face stayed schooled and void of emotion. Rising to his feet, Mormont took slow steps about the study, hand on his chin with a heavily pondering expression.

"So… what does this mean for you, Jon?"

"I… I'm… I'm a wolf now, I guess."

This was cause for the man to sweep back around with the speed of a man many summers younger.

"A wolf. They've made you… a wolf." It was a statement, not a question, made with a tone of accusation and disbelief.

Jon sighed, and turned gaze to his hands. One was heavily scarred due to contact with the burning torch, but already the skin was shrinking back to its original state, the scars fading like dew in the sunlight. The healing factor was still an odd sight, but at this time greatly appreciated. There was a hidden question for an example beneath his words, Jon could tell that much. Standing, Jon relaxed his mind and let it drop into that now familiar wolf head space. There were distant sounds of his body changing and shifting to match; he had seen the rather grotesque process from other pack mates; but it felt distant within his clouded mind.

As it cleared, he found his sight at a slightly lower level than in his human mold, and Mormont looking on with clear shock written across his face. This was one event that allowed for a break in guarded expression. Where Jon had once been, a pure black wolf of equivalent height and size stood. With powerful muscles moving beneath thick and bushy fur. Mormont lifted a hand to his face.

"Y-you… you… By the gods themselves."

That was about a reaction he expected. What more can one really say? Jon offered a reassuring smile, or as good as he could when smiling only revealed gums and sharp teeth.

"Well," Mormont cleared his throat and rid his face of its former shock. "The evidence is clearly stacked in favor of your story, so I suppose I must relent and… make some changes to my world view… But I must ask again; what does this mean for you, Jon?"

Shifting back into his human skin, Jon tipped his head in expression of confusion, looking very puppy like in manor.

"I trust this means you can no longer serve under the Watch."

Cold realization settled in Jon's gut once more.

"Oh. Yes… yes it does."

Mormont nodded solemnly in recognition.

"Good thing this occurred before you took the oath. Even though I doubt you new… pack would allow a tracking party of crows anywhere near, breaking an oath is a terrible feeling to carry, wolf or no."

Jon nodded in agreement.

"Why return now?"

"I… I was in the woods, the other day, running past the wall, when I saw a ranger patrol making rounds by the forest border. Pip and Toad were among them. They had taken the black. It was then I realized… they thought I was dead; they all did. And though I know I can never return, the Watch was my family, my home, for a few months at least. You were owed better than a disappearance into the night, never to be seen again."

Mormont nodded, following his reasoning with ease.

"And I wanted to know of my family; perhaps tell them I was alright. I don't want to leave them in a similar state."

At this, Mormont paled. His sent changed, becoming spiked with subtle fear and anxiety easy to pick up on.

"What is it?" Jon questioned, gaze hardening. "What's wrong?"

Giving a great heave of breath, Mormont waked back to the table, taking a few pieces of parchment from where recent messages brought by raven rested; waiting to be seen. He motioned for Jon to sit, before shuffling the papers into proper order.

"Many things have changed within the south since you left. As the Watch cares little for what war games the king and his lords play, we thought little of it, but with how it involves your family, it seems fitting to bring you to date."

Jon's nerves switched and his hair stood on end; poised to react to danger.

"King Robert Baratheon is dead."

Jon stiffened further.

"He was gored by a boar on a hunting trip. Reportedly, the fool was too drunk to properly subdue the beast, and payed with his life. As would be expected, his eldest Joffrey had taken the iron throne; though his mother and uncle, that Imp that was here, speak in his place more often than not. But it is not as simple as that. There is unrest as to the throne's rightful claim. There are rumors that Joffrey is not Robert's rightful heir, and both of the former King's brothers have declared themselves kings and are building armies to fight the Lannister's claim."

"Wait," Jon interrupted. "What proof have they found of this?"

"That is perhaps the gravest news for yourself. Your father, the king's hand, marched into the throne room and declared Joffrey to not be the rightful heir. He's been imprisoned for treason."

Jon's hunter adrenalin wound him like a spring til he had no choice but to rise to his feet, startling Ghost from slumber as the chair roughly scraped back across the floor. He wanted to speak, but his body was locked in a desperate struggle between fight or flight. His mind whirled with disbelief. Mormont continued on.

"Your brother has called their banner men, and marches south as we speak in an attempt to free him and your sisters. But that is all we have heard of their progress."

Jon was still frozen; eyes locked on a distance far from that small room in Castle Black's tower. Mormont looked at the boy, confused.

"Jon? Jon, boy, are you okay?" A hand rested on the bastard Stark's shoulder snapped him from his reverie.

"The Starks are in danger."

Mormont raised an eyebrow. "Yes I believe that is quite evident."

"The Starks are in danger. And it is the duty of the wolves of the north to come to their rescue. I must tell the pack; they have to know. I need to save them." Concern for his family and an instinctual drive to guard his charges boiled the panic beneath his skin.

"I have to tell the pack." Jon rushed for the door, Ghost on his heels. Mormont's hand closed on his arm in a harsh grip once more, and spun him back to face the Watch leader.

"Boy, hold yourself for a moment!"

The wolf-boy froze.

"How do you expect, exactly, to return to your group and get them past the wall? It might be simple enough for one sly lad and his direwolf to wiggle pas the guards, but a whole troupe is bound to be of a noticeable size."

Jon took a few calming breaths. He was right. The young man racked his mind for a solution. Gold eyes fell on a map of the wall; its borders and guard towers marked with distinct black dots and lines across the length of Westeros' northern most border. His face lit as a plan fell into step like a well-organized hunting group.

"Mormont; the towers abandoned by the Watch; they're still there, yes?"

The old bear gazed as the boy worriedly.

"Yes; but they lie in ruin."

"But no one would be guarding the door, yes?"

The Watchman looked baffled.

"The doors were sealed once it became clear we did not have enough men to manage every station."

"With what?"

"Wood and stone."

Jon made a chuffing sound, looking quite pleased.

"A simple matter to break through, then."

"Are you saying these wolf-men can break stone?"

"They're strong enough to move it. Especially if we can get the whole pack on the move."

Mormont could think of nothing to say in response.

"It will be even easier with help from the inside."

Mormont's eyes narrowed.

"I don't plan on lending you men to help with this scheme of yours. I understand your concern and plight, but the watch is forever neutral to the skirmishes of the kingdom. And I need all hands here."

Jon met his eyes with clear understanding.

"I don't expect you to give me men. I have an idea of who to ask for help. You just need to turn a blind eye for us."

The old bear was left searching for a response, before the tension left his shoulders and the man could do nothing else than shake his head.

"I suppose I could allow a few young men to slip out for a time. As long as they return within a few days' time."

Jon's eyes lit up.

"Thank you; thank you so much Lord Mormont." Jon bowed to him, and instinctively bared his exposed throat towards the man of higher stature. At the realization, Jon stood quickly face burning with embarrassment and made to leave quickly.

Mormont seemed to have not noticed the sudden submission, as he had already turned back to the entrance of his chambers. His raven flitted over and perched on his shoulder. Jon gripped the handle, and recognized it was still locked. He made to ask Mormont for the key, only to find he had returned with something wrapped in a swath of cloth. The halfbreed looked on with uncertainty. The old bear placed the thing down on the table, running a hand over the fabric reverently.

"I had been looking forward to taking you under my service. I believed there was much you could learn of the Watch's workings. Perhaps make a worthy leader out of you. And a watchman needs a hardy weapon, to guard him and protect him."

The cloth was removed to reveal a sword encased within its scabbard.

"This sword… had great value to my family. It was my father's sword, and his father before him. It has been part of the family for generations. I had passed it on to my own son. But he was disgraced some time ago, and had enough grace left to leave it behind. I know you may have no use for it now; with your abilities. But I feel a need to offer something for saving my life, and to help in your journey. And it's a shame to let such a blade rust in my closet."

He offered the sword to Jon, who took it from the scabbard. It glinted brightly in the early light. The steel was bright and sharp, but the length seemed off. The length stretched past a longsword, but did not match a great sword, either.

"A bastard blade…" he remarked with humor in his voice. Mormont gave a chuckle at the irony as well.

On the handle's pommel was some kind of carved decoration; though the shape was undefinable.

"It was once a bear, carved on the end. It's long worn down by now. Though it could be a wolf, if one looks at it in the right light."

Jon smiled at the thought.

"Does it have a name?"

"It is called Longclaw."

"Longclaw." Jon repeated. He sheathed the bastard blade and buckled the scabbard around his hip.

"Even as a beast, I'm sure it will serve me well. Can't fight every battle with teeth." Jon remarked.

Mormont grunted noncommittedly; and slapped a hand down on his back.

"Good luck, Snow."

Jon gave a nod, before Mormont unlocked the door and stepped back to let the Stark slip back into the cold north once again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Tyrion was never one to wax fondly over dreams. Where as many men would reflect over particularly vivid or enjoyable scenarios that played out in the night, the Lannister was more one to leave such imaginations in his bed. There were far more important things that deserved his attention by day, and walking around with his head in the clouds would easily award him a slit throat or cup full of poison.

But this was different.

Because tonight, he was a lion.

A full grown beast that stood tall as a war horse bred for battle, with muscles that rippled beneath a pelt of well-groomed gold. Each step he took was heavy and fell with a thud that shook the earth, alerting all to the presence of a superior predator. Animals of all kinds fled in his wake. Deer, rabbits, wolves, even bears and shadow cats cowered at his strength.

The lands he prowled were flat and lush; some portions dense with wood while others swept gold and green with grass and wheat. The sun glinted off his proud mane, and he prowled the south with head held high and radiating grace and dignity. Never before had he felt such strength; such confidence; such power. With a sturdy leap, he climbed a rocky outcropping half the height of a castle tower with ease. From here, the land stretched out before his eyes, innocent, nubile, and open to be taken with ease. From deep within his gut, Tyrion pulled forth a sky shattering roar. The force of which pushed a visible barrier of wind across the lush grass and pulled leaves from trees that bowed to him like loyal subjects. With this roar, he claimed this land as his. His.

 _This land belongs to me!_

It was at that moment; a raven cawed loudly from somewhere above, and he was woken. The dwarf rose with a burst of energy, gifted from the rush granted by such a vision. His heart was still pounding fast in his chest, and for a time, Tyrion thought he could still feel his powerful limbs and muscled form. But the cold biting wind of the north swept the fantasy away, and he returned to his stunted limbs which ached from the bruising pace of this journey.

The imp was tempted to crawl back beneath the small amount of furs he was given and return to that lush paradise wherein he was king; but others were beginning to stir. The members of Lady Caitlyn Stark's entourage, who for reasons not even The Seven themselves could manage, hold him captive for an unknown crime. One of the sell swords tempted by coin to join them had settled not too far off and was sharpening his sword in a contemplative manner.

 _What is his name? Bron?_

Whatever it may be, Tyrion would get no comfort from sleeping surrounded by enemies with sharp weapons. So instead he rose to unsteady feet, stretched as far as his twisted body would allow, and sauntered off in search of something to break his fast.

Motion from the distant trees caught his eye, and the sights, sounds, and smells of the wild brought forth a desire he had never known. At this stage in life, Tyrion had contented himself with the idea that he would never have what his brother and sister, and even others of noble blood had. He tempered such jealous thoughts with realism and logic, and never allowed his expectations to rise. But here, he found himself longing for a dream. For a wisp of thought conjured up from a sleep heavy mind. Something that could never be.

He fought to shove it form his mind. Such childish insecurity was folly to any man, and would be his undoing if he let want conquer wit. So he left the dream in his bed, with all the others, and set about trying to be what he was; a dwarf. Not a lion.

No. He could never be such a lion.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

Within a quiet old library in the depths of Castle Black, a very rotund young man sat at a desk surrounded by a plethora of novels placed in precarious piles. All that broke the silence in the room was the scratching of a quill on rough parchment as Samwell Tarly worked furiously on the page. For a moment, his quick movements stopped, and the feather lowered to the table top so the Watchman could rub the weariness from his eyes. The low candle light burned behind his eyelids, and Sam yawned loud enough to wake the dead.

Soft, rounded eyes took a moment to peer around at the dusty book shelves that enclosed him like tightly knit trees, and the fat boy reclined back in his chair with a sigh, allowing his body and mind to rest. His gaze drifted to the papers spilled in an unorganized clump on the desk, tracing the dark marks of his hand writing and various maps of the far north; both those he had found, and a few he marked out himself.

Maester Aemon had implored Sam to use his gift of reading and writing gained from a high born status to mark important locations and landmarks for the ranging party that was soon to be arranged beyond the wall, and so he was relegated to spending all the night within a stuffy dark room. Though, in reality, Sam could not be more thrilled. Here, among books and paper and knowledge, he felt useful. As though he could at last reach some form of potential where it escaped him on the battle field, and in most physical tasks. Embedded within books of lore and journals of former head rangers, Sam felt on par with the other watch members and at last able to pull his own weight; hefty though it is.

The former nobleman had been scratching away with his quill for what was surely several candles' worth at this point, judging from how many times he had to change out the blasted things, so Sam figured his poor wrist deserved a break. His mind could use one, too. All these legends and retellings of encounters with giants and wargs, and which mountains were safe to climb and which would spell your doom swirled around in his noggin and left his thoughts a bit of a confusing mess. Sloppy work could mean someone's life in the far north, so he found it best to take it slow.

As Sam stared up at the wood planks that made up the ceiling, his thoughts focused on one person who kept running to the forefront of his mind.

"Jon…" he whispered solemnly to the sky.

Jon had been his savior, the only boy to show him kindness and brotherhood amidst the training ground, and his first friend. Someone who looked at his unhealthy form and saw possibilities instead of disappointment. The Stark had faith in him, something Sam thought he would never get from anyone.

And now he was gone.

Vanished in the mists of an ambush; killed by wolves as reported by the watchmen that had made it back. The news had been a shock to the watch; especially the newbies he had befriended, but no one took it harder than Sam. The Tarly had run the whole gambit of grief; adamantly denying his fate and staying up to watch for the bastard's return, turning irritable at anyone who talked of Jon in a past tense, and silently grieving in his chambers for the loss of his friend.

Maester Aemon had been a surprising comfort on those days. Though blind, the old man still had some kind of sense for Sam's depression, and could read the change in his demeanor. So he sat the boy down with a cup of mulled wine in the evening once all the chores had been done.

There Sam had sullied over his sorrows, and Aemon recounted a story of a lost comrade of his from his days before the wall. Then the wizened maester had remarked on the nature of death, and left Sam with a few words.

 _It will never get easier. Others will say that time heals all wounds and sorrows, but it doesn't. The ache just hurts a little less. But the hole left by a loss will always be there, and always hurt. And that's alright. The only thing to do, Sam, is move on. Don't forget them; never forget them; but you will only waste your own life worrying over theirs. Move on and do great things._

The speech echoed often in his mind when Sam felt that wave of loss creeping up again. It did still hurt to think about Jon, but Aemon was right. He had his own life to live. He cast another cursory glance around him, before returning to the ceiling with a sigh. Nothing had been the same since Jon died. He was getting better at saying that to himself. Everything was exactly where it had been in the days prior, but now it all felt off. A piece of the puzzle was missing, and it would never be found again.

Sam brought his hands to his eyes once more, and forced himself up in the chair so he could start again on the maps. They had to be finished in a few weeks' time, but there was so much information to cover that he would need every hour he could get.

Sam picked up another chart; this one marked the many old watch towers that dotted the wall's landscape. They littered the edge of the dividing line like a troupe of marching ants; each one had a name printed next to it in old, faded writing. The only ones that stood in clear lettering were the current three towers; Castle Black, the Shadow Tower, and the Eastwatch by the Sea.

"Hard to believe the Watch used to be big enough to man all of these towers." He muttered to himself.

"Yes, it must have been quite impressive."

Sam started in fright at the voice and surged upward from his seat with a gasp. The sudden movement caused his feet to tangle with the legs of the chair and sent him toppling to the floor in a cluttered mess of papers, books, and furniture.

"Gods, Sam! My apologies, I didn't think you would startle this hard!"

From his spot on the floor, Sam found himself staring back at a very familiar face. Far too familiar for his comfort. Same black hair grown to an unruly length, same nose, same jaw, same everything that he had come to find familiar with his northern friend.

" _Jon-…"_ The name escaped as a choked whisper.

Standing above him, a very alive Jon offered his best smile.

"Yeah. It's me. I… listen, Sam, I am so sorry about this. About everything. The disappearance, the lack of contact for… several months now, the-"

But his words were falling on deaf ears, as Sam was currently in the midst of a mental crisis. He could feel his rather cubby limbs shaking horribly and his breathing had turned erratic. Disbelief was all his mind would feel. So much time spent grieving, healing, moving on; he can't be back. Sam felt he had finally cracked, going so far as to imagine a full on specter of Jon just so the loneliness would flee.

Jon had halted mid forgiveness rant as he noticed the portly boy with eyes locked on his face, yet not truly seeing him.

"Sam?" No response.

"Sam?" Jon knelt down by his friend.

"Samwell Tarly?" Jon shook his shoulder with a firm hand, and the other boy finally left his own thoughts.

Sam recoiled from his grasp.

"You're dead!" It was a statement, not a question.

Jon sighed. "Yes, I'm well aware of that fact. Or at least, how you and the rest of the Watch came to that conclusion."

"No no no, you. Are. Dead. You are _not_ here, you are _not_ real!" At this point, Sam had stumbled to his feet and was now pacing back and forth amongst the book shelves. "I've gone mad. Out right barmy I have! I- I'm making up ghosts!"

"Sam- Sam! Calm down you're not-"

"Oh, I must be coming down with something!" He rationalized franticly. "I'm gonna wake up in my bed or on that desk with the worst fever in the Seven Kingdoms!"

" _Sam!_ " Jon grabbed his shoulders in a bruising grip and turned the boy to face him.

"Now listen and listen well. I am not dead. I know everyone thought I was, and I know I haven't been around these past few months, but I am very much real, and very much alive. And if you would sit down for a moment, and let me explain, you would understand why."

Sam had gone completely still. Jon hoped it was rational sneaking in, but his eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

"Your… your teeth…"

For a breath, Jon was confused, until he reached to his mouth and felt the sharp, pointed canines bite slightly into his fingertips.

"Oh. Yes, that."

"And your eyes! Gods, your ears too, and… is that facial hair, Jon?"

The pure bewilderment in his face was almost comical.

"Ah, yes. Now I promise there is a true, if irrational, explanation for all of this. Are you willing to listen?"

Apprehension boiled low in the former noble's stomach, but he firmly nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah, Jon. Sure."

Several minutes after found them seated in chairs around Sam's work desk; the heavier boy looking absolutely gob smacked in the candle light, and the wolf-boy watching with apprehension as his story was processed.

"Well? Any thoughts?"

"I think I used up all my reactions on your earlier appearance."

Jon barked out a laugh and broke the tense atmosphere that had built up. The sight of him back in familiar walls, laughing care free once more was a sincere relief to Sam, who joined in the merriment.

"So you're half wolf now?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Sam scoffed

"You know people have gotten me to believe a lot of stuff over the years, but I don't think even the least educated pig farmer would buy that hog swell."

"Trust me, I barely believed it myself. Until I actually shifted and, well, couldn't pass this off as a dream anymore."

Sam let out a short chuckle that was tinged with concern for his sanity.

"Well, I'm glad you're back, Jon. The Watch hasn't been the same without you."

Jon's smile faded.

"Um… Sam, I'm… I'm not really… back."

"But you're here, right?"

"Well yes, obviously, but-"

"Well then you're back!"

"No, I'm not-"

"Though, I'm not quite sure how you can hide wolf abilities from the other Watchmen, or were you planning on telling everyone? Mormont might be a good option-"

"Sam! I'm not joining the Watch!" Jon growled once more over his rambling. The portly lad met his gaze confused.

"What do you mean?"

Jon's frustration left instantly, and he sat back in the chair face covered in guilt.

"I did not choose this for myself. Like I said, this is part of a deal; a sort of contract. There was nothing I could do. But I'm part of the pack now; I have new responsibilities that come with these powers. And it may have more mobility, but I need to be able to leave at any time, and I could never apply myself to the tasks of the Watch as well as a guardian. I can't be part of the Watch."

Familiar grief swept back over Sam.

"So you are leaving for good."

"Well it's not like you'll never see me again. I'll be moving all across the North, and the pack is very lenient, I can visit at any time."

"But you'll never be here, here again."

Jon's eyes looked down at the table.

"Yeah…"

A veil of silence settled in the room, and for a time the tiny crackle of candle flame was the only thing to be heard. Finally fed up with all the doom and gloom that seemed to follow his existence at this point, Sam startled his friend with a loud clap.

"Well, there's nothing to do about that. You're here now, so we might as well enjoy it."

A small smile crept onto Jon's face. Sam might fancy himself useless, but the other boy still had this sense of positivity and hope that was hard to find in times like this. It was certainly a trait to be admired.

"Actually, I came because I need your help with something."

Sam leaned forward in interest.

"I need you to help me open the gates to one of the abandoned watch castles."

"You what mate?" Sam countered in disbelief.

"I need to open an entrance into the far North that's big enough for an army to get through, and I'm going to need help from someone on the inside."

The fat boy still looked confused. Jon let out an exasperated sigh. He had hoped Sam would be willing enough to simply agree, but he was smarter than that. A full explanation was needed.

"Something's gone wrong in the south. There's conflict breaking out all across the kingdoms, and my father has been arrested for treason."

"Oh, yeah, we all heard about that. I was kind of glad you were dead so you wouldn't have to sit through that…"

"Yes, well, as my family are the ones trapped in the midst of this, it's the pack's responsibility to guard and protect them. But we need to get past the wall. The only viable place to get through is one of the unused towers, but the passages are blocked off. The wolves are strong enough to push through, but we'll still need guidance to find the entrance. I want you to take Grenn, Pyp, Toad, all the others and bring them to whichever castle you think will be easiest to breach."

"Wait, why come to me?" Sam asked, somewhat thrown by Jon's confidence in him.

"You've been holed up in here studying maps all day Sam; you're my best option. I can't go to anyone in high command about this, they won't care. You're my friend. I trust you and the others." Jon offered a grin. "I may not have taken my vows, but I still think of you as brothers. Will you lend me a hand?"

Sam's smile nearly split his face. He extended a pudgy hand, and Jon grasped it in his.

"Definitely."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

The sound of hooves pounding against earth was muffled by the thickness of snow. The long, spindly legs of horses obscured by a white cloud of flakes being kicked up in their wake. Sam struggled with the thin paper crudely strapped to the saddle as it twisted and turned in the gale created by their speed. Trying to reign in a horse and read a withered, ancient map at the same time was proving to be more than difficult; and the rotund boy pretended to be deaf to the snickers that drifted from the others who rode next to them.

In line with Jon's instructions, Sam had recruited the whole group of young Watchmen, whom he still felt hesitant to call "friends", to assist in unblocking the wall. Though he had made the decision to leave the rest in the dark for the moment. Trying to explain everything about Jon being alive, and the wolves, and magic and… by the Gods, he hardly believed it himself. It would simply take up more time with their questions and doubts. So as far as Grenn, Pyp, and the others were concerned, this was a solo adventure taken under the nose of their superiors so Sam could slate his curiosity about the now abandoned watchtowers.

"Need some help, Sam?" Grenn gibed humorously as a particularly strong gust tugged the map from Sam's grip and smacked it straight into his face.

After a few moments of blind grumbling and unfolding long yellowed paper, Sam grunted back in frustration;

"No, Grenn, I don't need your sorry excuse for help. Doubt your small brain could make sense of the writings anyhow."

Grenn blinked back in mild shock, before letting out a huff of laughter.

"Sir Piggy sure gets prickly when his maps won't cooperate!"

The rest of the group echoed his amusement. Sam could only roll his eyes at their childish gapes. Somewhat exasperated, but still glad they seemed so willing to welcome him into the fold; even now that Jon, the boy who had almost threatened them into standing by him, was gone.

Toad sighed from his position at the back.

"How far out are these damned chunks of stone? I could be sleeping right now on an actual bed and not a fucking saddle."

"It's not much further." Sam reassured, peering closer towards the map. "I think…"

Toad sulked down onto the saddle with an overly dramatic groan.

Pyp gave him a cuff upside his head.

"Oh shut your whining before you lose whatever balls you have left. If you can't handle this you might as well desert the Watch now!" He admonished with a teasing smile.

"Oi, clam it crow face. I don't need you on my ass too."

"Sorry, mate, don't swing that way."

This sounded another chorus of laughter and sent Toad into a tizzy, all red-faced and struggling for a comeback.

"Ah, fuck you lot." Toad clipped out angrily.

Sam couldn't help but smile. The atmosphere had warmed immensely despite the cold, and the adventure seemed far brighter with light hearted companions. There was a sound of surprise from the front, and Sam's horse suddenly lurched to a stop.

"Hey, what's-" Then Sam saw it. A dark silhouette loomed in the evening mist; a dark and imposing tower that brought to mind the villainous lairs of evil knights and sorcerers bent on destroying trepid adventurers.

The patrol of young Watchmen stood stock still for a few moments, drinking in the imposing sight. Their horses whickered and pranced nervously at their rider's sudden uncertainty. Eddison was the first to break the silence.

"That's a daunting tower…"

Pyp hummed in agreement. "And I thought Castle Black was a fortress."

"Wonder why they'd abandon this one? Seems it'd be pretty good at spooking off anyone who even looked at the thing." Rast questioned as he scratched at his beard.

Sam said nothing, simply kicking his horse back into motion and took up the lead towards the stone structure. The others cast a few surprised looks before following the unusually brave former noble. Meanwhile, Sam was panicking silently to himself; reassuring over and over that stone was simply stone and trying not to shiver in his saddle.

Far across the other side of the Wall, two furry blurs raced through the dense forest; weaving and twisting around branches, trees, and rocks in their haste to reach their destination. Jon's tongue hung from his open mouth, and the half-breed took deep, shaky breaths to help power aching muscles through the final stretch. Ghost straggled just behind him, panting and wheezing just has harshly.

As they entered a break in the trees, Jon skidded to a stop, kicking up a cloud of snow and sending it sprinkling over the cliff face before them. To the untrained eye, the drop was nearly invisible from this angle. The only visible sign was a small strip of exposed grey rock between where the snow from the near and far banks blended together into one continuous white plain.

The two wolves stood on shaky legs for a time as they gasped for breath. Jon wanted nothing more than to continue sprinting down the hidden slope; time was of the essence and each second wasted was a second he feared his father's head was on the line. Queen Cersei was not one to take insult lightly and now that she was undoubtedly whispering in Joffrey's ear, Eddard Stark would not be keeping his life for long. But he would never be understood in such a state, so he conceded to his body for now.

The sound of rustling undergrowth reached his ear, and before Jon could in any way react, wolves burst from the brush, snarling with gleaming fangs and hackles raised. At the head was an intimidatingly large wolf with sleek black fur shining like a well-groomed raven. At the sight of the two exhausted companions, his expression changed from fury to surprise.

"Jon?" River asked shocked.

The still panting Stark only offered a wolfish grin as affirmation. At once, the hostility was gone and the Beta guard swarmed their tired pack mate, sniffing and inquiring about his condition in clear concern. River padded through the tight circle and stood before the boy.

"By the stars, Jon, what happened to you? You were gone for a whole day with no sign left uncovered by fresh snow. You look as though you spent all night running from a pack of bears!"

Jon licked around his lips and reached for words through ragged breaths.

"Well… it certainly has been a stressful night."

"Yes, I can see. Come, let's get you down to our healer. I'm sure she has a few left over jun leaves for your tired legs."

Motioning to one of his betas, the wolves stepped closer in an attempt to stand Jon back up, offering him a shoulder to lean on as they made their way down. But Jon resisted movement, and pushed away from their insisting noses.

"No…" he huffed. "No, no, wait. I have… urgent news."

"Snow, surely your health is more important-"

"No! This… it's life or death."

River reluctantly sat back on his haunches before the boy.

"Well, since you're so insistent, speak."

"It's… my father. Lord Stark."

Rivers ears pricked.

"He's been taken prisoner by… at King's Landing. A traitor. They'll kill him for sure."

The Beta Guard had gone rigged. A few taking steps back and turning towards their leader with looks of anxiety. River was unusually quiet. And stood once more before taking a few paces along the edge. After a few moments of silence, the alpha roared in frustration and kicked at a nearby tree, gouging through it with a powerful strike.

"I knew it! I knew this was… I knew I should have sent guards beyond the walls. Damn silence, damn secrecy! I-…"

River collapsed back onto his hindquarters with a soul shaking sigh.

"Such a fool…" he seemed to be whispering to himself. "Such a fool! I saw the signs, I…"

"Um… River?" Jon queried. "What are you saying?"

River turned back, suddenly aware of his rambling.

"Nothing of your concern, Snow. But it seems now is the time for action. We must call the pack together once more. We'll need every last soul if we're to go on the war path against the kingdom itself. But an offence on the Starks in an offence on us. And we will protect our Northern brothers with every last breath."

The betas huffed in agreement, already itching to be called into action.

"We'll need a plan. That blasted Wall is proving to be more of an inconvenience than we had believed when first built…"

"Actually, Alpha," Jon interrupted. "I already have a plan for that."

River offered a smile.

"Somehow, I had a feeling you would, Snow."

Below in the camp, half-breeds milled around, tense and silent. The small avalanche of snow cast over the side of the cliff had sent the whole pack on edge. It had been centuries since any wandering intruders had happened upon their home, and now all waited anxiously from news of their Alpha and his guards, who had rushed out to assess the danger.

Mothers had hurried their pups indoors and fathers kept guard in doorways and by windows. The youthful backbone of the pack stood anxiously around the compound, unsure of their actions or place, but eager to sink tooth and claw into any such threat.

Until, much to their surprise, River dashed through the slope's opening, leaving a few gob smacked pack members behind as he leapt with eager grace onto a large rock that struck out stubbornly in the midst of camp.

"All wolves sworn to the North and snow, gather to hear your Alpha speak!"

At once, the spell that hung across the clearing was broken as wolves rushed from their dens and places of rest to gather as one beneath the rock. Once all ears were trained and attentive, River spoke again.

"It seems the time to fulfill our end of the blood pact has come. The rulers to the South have thought themselves above decency and respect for those beneath them. And now, the Starks have been caught in the sights of their crossbows. Our Lord, Eddard Stark lies imprisoned under the banner of a traitor, and the executioner's axe swings closer. In response, our heir Rob Stark and his banner men march south to the tunes of war. But their fight is far outmatched. And, as Stark sworn protectors, we'll be damned to stand by!"

A surge of assurance swept through the wolves, who stood far straighter and imposing, willing and eager.

"Today, I call all Wolves of the Pack. Those that range even far within the mountains and south of the Wall. We march on King's Landing as one! For the North!"

" _ **For the North!**_ "

The cry echoed with the fury of a thousand voices, and howls filled the air as the wolf-men rallied themselves for war. At once, the camp was a rush of activity, tramping feet and paws alike as pack members scurried to scrape together their belongings; weapons, armor, sleeping furs, extra rations, all was packed and arranged on the backs of eager soldiers. The women gathered up their children and covered them in their sturdiest clothes for the long trek ahead.

Jon looked on at the flurry of motion. So this was the fervor of a pack on the war path. Everyone was participating in preparations, and Jon could feel the determination and excitement moving through the air like its own living creature.

With one last observing glance at the scene below, River took a running start towards the cliff face, and climbed up the sheer drop; hands and feet scrapping at foot holds and pulling himself up towards the top. Once there, the Alpha dropped his head back and released a howl that pulled shivers down Jon's spine.

His legs shook with its echoing force, and the sound stretched out in an encompassing wave that echoed off the very mountains in the distance.

"That's the call." A voice spoke beside Jon; and he jumped from where he was standing in rapture at the sight.

"The pack isn't just made up of those here. There are countless other groups spread out through the north and even past the wall. Each with their own beta leaders and camps; but they all respond to the Alpha. When he sends out the call, every wolf; young or old, big or small, must rise to action and unite as one." Jon should not have been surprised to see Lilly there; large pack slung over her shoulders and covered in traveling pelts.

"I didn't realize this stretched so far…"

The red head offered a smile.

"We've existed for thousands of years. What did you expect?"

River jumped back down the cliff and landed unmarked with a heavy thud amidst the snow. The pack now eagerly crowded around their Alpha, and he gave a nod to Jon.

"Pack! Move out!"

And with a resounding cry, the pack rushed out the entrance in a continuous stream. Both shifted, human, and every shape in between, they moved as one force up the slope and spread out into the forest; River running at the forefront with his betas, accompanied by Jon and Ghost.

"Alpha, I thought you had called the others to join us; shouldn't we wait for them?"

River kept his gaze locked forward as he answered.

"The others know what the call means. It is only used in the gravest of circumstances when all hands are needed. We cannot afford to wait. They'll fall in once they catch up to the rest of us."

Now he turned to look at the boy.

"Alright Jon, it's your turn."

"What?"

"This is your plan; you're the only one who knows where we're going. Run on; take the lead!" he encouraged with a smirk.

And Jon returned his smile before pelting up past River, taking point at the head of the pack. Ghost ran just a step behind like the loyal shadow he was, and Jon felt an odd bubble of glee. Behind him stretched the forces of the wild, with more on the move to add their ranks. Men, women, elders, and children, all ranged out in an unstoppable force; and Jon could feel it. The power and strength of the pack. His comrades, his friends, his… family. And with a laugh he was unable to stop, Jon tilted his head back and howled; loud and long. The sound spread back in the wind, settling across those following his heels. Lilly picked up the cry, accompanied by Thorn, Branch, and the others; then continued by River, his betas, the elder generation, and the squeaky cries of the young.

 _Rob… Arya… Brank, Ricken, Sansa… Father. Hold on just a little longer._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

A sound sharper than the hissing wind drew Ygritte's sight towards the sky. Something was echoing off the trees and rocks around a scruffy group of wildlings slowly making their way towards the Frost Fangs. For a moment, she felt a ripple of wind kick up, shaking snow from tree branches and stirring the powder around her furred boots. And, just at the edge of her hearing, a pitch that sounded much like a voice. The thin vestiges of a wolf's howl echoed within her ears.

A quick glance told the free woman that her companions had given the slight disturbance no notice. Again, Ygritte's gaze drifted back, this time towards the forest. Dense and ancient trees that looked from her vantage point a complete wall of wood and bark; whatever contained within invisible due to lack of light.

"Oi! Ygritte!"

Startled, she turned to face the Lord of Bones.

"What's keeping you? C'mon, pick up!"

"Ah, fuck off, bone head!" she waved dismissively after her rebuttal. "Ain't a woman entitled to her privacy when she's gotta take a piss?"

The man scoffed, sending the bones strapped to his clothes rattling in a noisy clatter.

"Well hurry up and go, then! And be quick about it, we won't wait for you to be done."

She gave no sign of affirmation and the troop's 'leader' started back up the increasing slope once more. Ygritte stood for a moment as a few more wildlings trudged past, incredibly focused on keeping their footing for the trek ahead. At last, with a shake of her head, she started off for the tree line.

As the branches enclosed once more over her head, the woman let out a sigh of relief, dropping her hands from where they were clenched into fists as she increased the distance in her strides. The further she went, the faster her pace grew, until Ygritte moved into a run; long tangle of hair streaming behind her. She picked up momentum, loping faster and faster while nimbly avoiding hidden rocks and roots underfoot. And, once the looming tree's branches latched together in a tight embrace, dropped to all fours.

In the darkness of the deep woods in the north, a flash of bright orange pelt, like a racing brand of fire, was all that could be seen of the she-wolf pelting into the forest.


End file.
